


Just to Hold the Hands I Love

by DesignatedGrape



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Angst with a Happy Ending, David Rose Deserves Nice Things, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Snowmen, alternate universe - patrick has curls, but sometimes he needs help believing it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:08:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27137770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesignatedGrape/pseuds/DesignatedGrape
Summary: As David peered out the window at the snow-covered neighborhood, his gaze landed on his own front lawn, which he shared with the townhouse next door. Oh. Oh,no.Sitting in the middle of the small yard, facing the street, was an honest-to-god snowman, complete with stick arms, red scarf, and plaid trapper hat, and holding some sort of sign.David rolled his eyes. His neighbor thought he was so funny.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Patrick Brewer/Original Male Character(s), Stevie Budd & David Rose, a little bit of Stevie Budd/Twyla Sands
Comments: 150
Kudos: 248
Collections: Schitt's Creek: Frozen Over (2020)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [SCFrozenOver2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SCFrozenOver2020) collection. 



> **Prompt** (slightly edited here to avoid spoiling the end) **:** David and Patrick are neighbors. When it snows, Patrick begins making snowmen on his lawn to get David's attention.
> 
> Canon divergent from 2.12 - Lawn Signs
> 
> Thank you so much to [yourbuttervoicedbeau](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwiana/pseuds/yourbuttervoicedbeau) for the excellent beta read and for holding my hand when I was panicking at midnight on a Wednesday.

The morning sunlight flooded David’s bedroom, splashing across his eyes and rousing him from sleep. The light was brighter than usual, and he rolled over to check the time on his phone. 7:23 a.m. He groaned and buried his face back into his pillow, trying—and failing—to fall back to sleep. He gave up after twenty minutes, making a mental note to search online for blackout curtains later, and willed his stiff limbs out of his cocoon of blankets. He padded gingerly across the cold hardwood floor of his bedroom to the windows that overlooked the street and peered outside.

The world was covered in a sparkling layer of fresh snow, and the sun reflecting off the powder jarred his half-awake eyes into a harsh squint. The weather app on his phone had been predicting an early season snowstorm overnight, but David had hoped it might miraculously disappear before it hit Elmdale. No such luck.

David looked out over the pumpkins, corn stalks, and other fall decorations that adorned his neighbors’ houses, now glistening white. Would his neighbors be open to a workshop on the proper selection and display of seasonal decor? He would have to ask around. His gaze landed on his own front lawn, which he shared with the townhouse next door. Oh. Oh, _no._ Sitting in the middle of the small yard, facing the street, was an honest-to-god snowman, complete with stick arms, red scarf, and plaid trapper hat, and holding some sort of sign. It probably even had a fucking carrot nose.

David rolled his eyes. His neighbor thought he was so funny.

The air in his townhouse was chilly thanks to the sudden change in the weather. David shivered as he grabbed the chunky-knit Merino wool throw from the end of his bed, and he wrapped it around his shoulders to stave off the cold on his journey to the kitchen. Downstairs, he adjusted the thermostat, started the coffee maker, and flicked on the gas fireplace before settling onto the couch and curling up with his phone to check his morning social media updates.

From where he sat, David had another view of the front yard, and he narrowed his eyes at the snowman that deigned to disturb his peace. He stood and moved to the window to get a better look at the sign it was holding (and the damn carrot nose he had been right about). The sign was angled towards the road, and David had to crane his neck uncomfortably to read it.

David growled and pulled up the contacts on his phone.

Patrick  
  
**Today** 7:58 AM  
**David:** What the hell is this?  
  
**David:** {{IMG_5942.jpg}}  
  
**Patrick:** Good morning, David! Enjoying the snow?  
  
**David:** No, I am not enjoying the snow. It's October 7th, Patrick.  
  
**David:** What the hell is this?  
  
**Patrick:** That, David, is a snowman.  
  
**David:** Yes, thank you, I know it's a snowman. WHY is there a snowman on our front lawn?  
  
**Patrick:** Aw, David, where's your sense of childlike wonder?  
  
**David:** I left it in 1996. Where's your sense of taste?  
  
**Patrick:** Hey, I worked hard on that snowman. I picked the most tasteful-looking carrot I had in my fridge.  
  
**David:** LET IT SNOW?!  
  
**David:** It isn't even winter yet. Why are you encouraging this?  
  
**Patrick:** {{Canadian_flag.gif}}  
  


“Ugh.” David tossed his phone onto the couch, pulled his blanket tighter around himself, and shuffled into the kitchen for the biggest cup of coffee he could find.

⛄️ ❄️ ⛄️

“David! Thank goodness you’re here! We have some very important business to discuss.” Wendy was already waiting inside for him when he arrived to open the store at 10 a.m. She was practically vibrating with energy, which David was absolutely not ready to deal with yet. Under the guise of very thoroughly stomping the snow off his boots, David took an extra-long moment to steel himself for whatever nonsense she had come up with today.

After David helped Wendy sell the name rights to Blouse Barn early last year, Wendy had given him a pretty big fucking check as a thank you, and he used it to purchase a forty percent stake in the business. Wendy had been happy to deal with the books and give David creative control over everything—except the business name, unfortunately—and last June, the store had reopened as Wendy’s Marketplace, a retail environment that sold local products and crafts as well as a carefully-curated selection of clothing. The clothing side of the business wasn’t particularly profitable, but the locally-made food, wine, beauty, and home products sold incredibly well. The store was successful enough that last month, with the help of some first-time homebuyer programs, David had been able to scrape together the down payment for a one-bedroom townhouse in Elmdale and finally get out of the motel in Schitt’s Creek. He had worked his ass off for this store, and he wasn’t about to let Wendy ruin it with another ridiculous idea.

All traces of snow effectively gone from his boots and starting to melt on the entry rug, David gritted his teeth and turned to face his business partner. “What’s wrong today, Wendy?”

“Oh, David, it’s so exciting!” she gushed. “I’m engaged!” She held up her left hand, and David’s jaw dropped. There was a flash of light from the brand new (massive, holy fuck) ring on her fourth finger, and he couldn’t stop the gasp of horror that escaped his lips. Luckily, unsurprisingly, Wendy didn’t notice.

“Engaged?” he croaked. “Engaged to who?”

“Don’t you remember my boyfriend Brad? He and his roommate Antonio stop by the store all the time!”

David’s brain went offline momentarily. “Brad. Your... _boyfriend_ , Brad. And his...his _roommate_? Antonio?”

“Well,” Wendy scoffed, “now he’s my fiancé!” David shook his head to clear the fog of confusion. He had so very many questions, and he wanted the answers to exactly none of them.

“Okay. Well, then, congratulations, Wendy.” He gave her a tight smile, and she clasped her hands and beamed at him. “But what does this have to do with the store?”

“Oh, yes, of course. Obviously, I’m going to be a newlywed soon, and that means I’ll want to be spending a lot less time in the store, and a lot more time in the _boudoir_ , if you know what I mean,” she drawled, winking rapidly at him. Ew. “So,” she continued, “I’d like you to use a portion of my share of the store’s income to hire someone to come in, just for one or two days a week, and look after the books in my place.”

David weighed this statement. On one hand, he’d need to go through the process of hiring someone. On the other hand, Wendy would be spending a lot less time in the store. “What’s the timeline for this?” he asked.

“We’re getting married next month!” Wendy squealed, bringing her fists up to her chest and shaking them, her armfuls of bracelets jingling with glee.

“Next month?! You need me to search for candidates, hold interviews, and train someone to take your place, all within a month, while also doing weekly vendor trips and running all of the day-to-day operations of the store?”

“Yes! You will be wonderful, David. I have all the confidence in the world in you!” She leaned towards him, and David tensed as she patted him on the forearm. “Now, I need to head out. Lots of planning to do!” With a wave of a bangled wrist, she was out the door, leaving David in a cloud of anxiety and drugstore perfume.

“What the fuck?” he whispered into the empty room. The black ostrich statues didn’t have an answer.

⛄️ ❄️ ⛄️

Stevie  
  
**Today** 4:23 PM  
**David:** You’re still coming to dinner tonight, right?  
  
**David:** Wendy dropped a fucking bombshell at the store today and I need some herbal therapy.  
  
**Stevie:** dinner? don't you mean friendsgiving?  
  
**David:** I refuse to call it that.  
  
**Stevie:** will there still be wine?  
  
**David:** Yes.  
  
**Stevie:** will there still be pie?  
  
**David:** Oh my god.  
  
**Stevie:** i'll take that as a yes  
  
**Stevie:** is patrick still coming? 🍆🍆🍆  
  
**David:** I'm going to murder you.  
  
**David:** Yes, Patrick is coming, WITH HIS BOYFRIEND.  
  
**Stevie:** oh then definitely yes  
  
**David:** 🖕  
  
**Stevie:** and warmest regards to you  
  


⛄️ ❄️ ⛄️

David had bought his townhouse about a month prior, and it had taken approximately seven minutes, two loads of boxes, and five snarky comments from Stevie about the inappropriateness of the Yohji Yamamoto fringe stripe sweater he had chosen to wear that day (as if Yohji Yamamoto was ever inappropriate, please) before Patrick Brewer came striding confidently out of the townhouse next door.

He was dressed in faded Levi’s and a navy blue henley with the top two buttons undone to reveal the faintest whisper of chest hair, and the sleeves rolled up to display muscular forearms. His auburn hair was cut a little shorter on the sides, but he had gorgeous, soft curls on the top, and he flashed David a blinding smile as he stuck out his hand and introduced himself. He was the literal definition of boy-next-door cute, and heat pooled in David’s stomach as Patrick caught his hand in a firm handshake. David had been fucked from the start. And not in the fun way.

It had taken approximately ten days, twelve maybe-flirtations, and countless attempts to convince himself that Patrick was definitely, absolutely, one hundred percent straight before David met Josh.

David had been returning home after a long day of vendor pickups, and he had pulled his car into his parking space just in time to see Patrick stepping out of his front door with another man close behind. He was taller than David, and he was tan, and made of lean muscle, and had effortlessly-styled sandy blond hair. He oozed sex appeal, and David was more than happy to ogle him from the relative safety of his car. Or he was, until Patrick turned around from locking his front door, and the stranger pulled him in by the belt loops and _shoved his entire tongue down Patrick’s throat, oh my god_. David let out an undignified squawk and stared, mouth agape, as his brain short-circuited. After an eternity, the two men separated, and Patrick grinned flirtatiously before turning to head down the walkway towards his own car.

And his eyes immediately locked on David.

Fuuuuuuck.

Patrick smiled and raised his hand in greeting. Oh, god. There was no escape at this point. David braced himself and sheepishly opened the car door.

“Hey, David!”

“Hey!” he chuckled awkwardly, as he stepped out onto the pavement. “It’s me!”

“Come meet my boyfriend. Josh, this is my neighbor David. David, this is my boyfriend Josh.” Josh smiled broadly, showing off a mouth full of pearly-white and perfectly-straight teeth. Of course.

“David! Patrick said he had a new neighbor. It’s so great to meet you!” Oh, no. He was nice, too. He probably taught children or saved cats from trees or helped elderly women cross streets for a living, or something.

“Uh, yeah, yeah, you too!” David reached out to shake his hand just as Josh went in for a hug, and they wound up in a tangled, awkward mess that ended in a hearty back pat. Perfect.

Patrick rubbed the back of his neck and checked the time on his phone. “Josh, we should probably get going if we want to make our dinner reservation.”

“Absolutely.” Josh wrapped an arm around Patrick’s waist and led him to Patrick’s silver Toyota. “See you around, David!”

David watched as Patrick backed out of his parking spot, offering a wave goodbye as they drove off.

Fuck.

⛄️ ❄️ ⛄️

David blinked and shook off the memory as he pulled up to his townhouse. He grabbed his bag from the back seat and tugged his scarf tighter around his neck, and cautiously made his way up the icy walkway that he hadn’t bothered to shovel this morning, making sure to glare at the stupid “Let it snow!” snowman on the way in. He dropped his bag on the bench just inside the entryway and sat down to pull off his boots and slip on his Uggs, before walking into the living room to flop onto the couch and pull out his phone.

Patrick  
  
**Today** 5:46 PM  
**David:** Still on for dinner tonight?  
  
**Patrick:** Don't you mean Friendsgiving?  
  
**David:** I will not dignify that with a response.  
  
**Patrick:** And yet, you gave one.  
  
**Patrick:** Will there still be wine?  
  
**David:** Oh my god, you and Stevie are the worst.  
  
**David:** Yes, there will still be wine.  
  
**Patrick:** Then yes. 🙂  
  
**David:** 🙄  
  
**David:** Are you and Josh still bringing the roasted green beans and maple sweet potatoes?  
  
**Patrick:** Um, I am, yes.  
  
**Patrick:** But Josh isn't coming. We broke up.  
  


David nearly dropped his phone.

**David:** Holy shit. I'm sorry.  
  
**Patrick:** It's...fine. I don't want to talk about it over text. Maybe later.  
  
**David:** Okay.  
  
**David:** Are you sure you want to come tonight?  
  
**Patrick:** Definitely, yes. I need alcohol and a good distraction.  
  


David _did_ drop his phone then, squeezing his hands into fists and digging his fingernails into his palms until his fingers could be trusted not to type out what his brain had just oh-so-helpfully supplied in response.

**David:** I absolutely get that. Tonight will be fun. We'll drink and shame eat until we can't move.  
  
**Patrick:** Perfect.  
  


⛄️ ❄️ ⛄️

“So now, in addition to all of my regular work, I need to find someone to take over dealing with the finances at the store. Who I can _trust_ to take over the finances at the store!” David gesticulated wildly, nearly sloshing wine out of the glass in his hand.

“Damn, that sucks,” Stevie said. Patrick nodded in agreement. “Have you thought about asking Alexis?” Stevie continued. “Won’t she be finishing her degree from Elmdale College soon? She's been working on that degree for four whole months, David. That must be worth something." She blinked at him innocently.

“All right, we’re done with you.” He waved a hand at her to cut her off, then looked over at Patrick. “Are you still heading home tomorrow?”

“Yeah, yeah. My parents always host a big thing for Thanksgiving, so my aunts and cousins and everyone will be there, too. It will be good to see them. I haven’t been back since June.” Patrick shifted uncomfortably in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.

David frowned. “So what’s the problem?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re all—” David gestured vaguely at Patrick “—squirmy. Or something.”

“Oh. Well, this is, uh, this is kind of the reason Josh and I broke up.”

“Oh, you don’t have to—” David started, as Stevie leaned forward on her elbows and said, “Really? What happened?”

Patrick sighed. “He wanted to come home with me for Thanksgiving, and I wasn’t ready for that yet."

Stevie raised an eyebrow. “But I thought you were already out to your family?”

“Yeah, I am. That’s why I went home in June, actually. But...I don’t know.” Patrick scrubbed a hand over his face. “It just...I just wasn’t ready. I can’t explain it.”

David hummed. “There’s no right timeline for any of this, you know. Everything should happen on your terms.”

“Thanks.” Patrick smiled at him resignedly. “So we had a big fight about where the relationship was headed, and he...um, he told me he loved me. And I didn't say it back."

David's heart dropped to his stomach as a rapid-fire montage of his past relationships (and non-relationships, and non-relationships he wished were relationships) ran through his mind unbidden. David had been in Josh’s place more times than he could count. Maybe he’d never said those words, but he knew too well the deep, aching sense of inadequacy that settled in his bones whenever someone showed him—or flat-out told him—that he wasn’t enough.

He tried to reconcile the parade of terrible people he had dated with the man sitting across from him. He searched Patrick’s face for signs of relief or joy, or worse, indifference, but he saw only pain. That was...better? He guessed?

David pushed the emotions down with a gulp of syrah and flicked his gaze to Stevie, whose face was caught somewhere between a look of sympathy and a grimace, likely internally replaying some of the greatest hits from her own tortured past relationships.

“Well,” David said, clearing his throat, “on that note, I believe I promised shame eating until we couldn’t move. So, pie?”

“Pie,” Stevie and Patrick agreed.


	2. Chapter 2

By the first Sunday in November, David was overworked, over-stressed, over-extended, and fully over trying to find a replacement for Wendy. He had interviewed five candidates, none of whom met all three criteria of being (1) competent at accounting, (2) on-brand for the store, and (3) not a giant asshole. Wendy was leaving at the end of the week, and he was officially screwed.

To add insult to injury, November also brought another early-season snowstorm. The remnants of the October storm had melted away blessedly quickly, but Mother Nature seemed determined to make David’s horrible week even worse.

And apparently, Patrick was, too. David glared out his front window. Another snowstorm, and another fucking snowman, carrot nose and all. His neighbor was a child.

Patrick  
  
**Today** 10:51 AM  
**David:** {{IMG_6513.jpg}}  
  
**David:** seriously?  
  
**Read** 10:52 AM

David watched the three dots appear, then disappear with no response. He frowned. Patrick hadn’t been quite himself the last month or so since he and Josh broke up. If he wasn’t even going to make fun of David, things must have gotten worse. David sighed and sat down on the entryway bench to tug on his boots and peacoat, and shuffled through the fluffy snow outside to investigate the new arrival on the lawn.

Oof. Oh boy. He walked up Patrick’s freshly-shoveled front walk and rang the doorbell. Patrick answered a moment later, back in his pajamas, his curls adorably flattened from the toque he had likely been wearing while shoveling earlier.

“Heyyy,” David greeted him with an awkward wave. “What's up?” Patrick sighed and stepped back to let David in from the cold.

David scanned the sparsely-decorated living room. He had been in Patrick's house a few times before, but it never failed to surprise him how much of a bachelor pad vibe it gave off. Hadn't he ever heard of a plant? A candle? A framed anything? That corner by the window would be perfect for—

No. This wasn't the time. He stopped mentally redecorating and instead noted that the space was as neat and tidy as always. David wondered if it meant Patrick was feeling okay enough to clean, or if he was so deep in his head, he was doing nothing _but_ cleaning.

“So, interesting song choice for the snowman this morning. Don’t get me wrong, Joni is a national treasure, although personally I would have gone with Mariah. But that’s just me.”

Patrick huffed a laugh. “I don’t think I’m in the mood for Mariah today.” He shoved his hands deep in the pockets of his blue striped pajama pants, not making eye contact.

“Okay, first of all, there’s no such thing as ‘not being in the mood’ for Mariah. She has a full catalogue of flawless songs for every mood. And, um, second…” David gritted his teeth. This was going to be painful. “Look, emotions are definitely not my area of expertise, but do you maybe...want to talk about it?”

Patrick sighed. “I mean, I guess it might help? I’ve been working through things with my therapist the last few weeks, but something came up Friday night. It might be good to talk with, um, another queer person.” He looked up at David tentatively, his eyes pleading.

“Oh, yeah. Yes. Sure. Um, let’s just…” He gestured to the sofa, and they settled near each other, angled so that David’s left knee was pressed against Patrick’s right. David categorically did not let himself think about the contact. “So, is this like...a sex thing…?” he asked cautiously.

“NO. No, no, no,” Patrick responded quickly. “I mean, not really. It’s more of a dating thing? Or a relationship thing? I don’t know.”

David internally breathed a sigh of relief. Thank god. He was neither awake enough nor caffeinated enough to navigate that conversation without embarrassing himself. “Maybe just start at the beginning? If that helps?”

Patrick looked up at the ceiling, blinking away invisible tears, and his voice was rough when he spoke. “Yeah, so, I met Josh in July, pretty soon after I figured out I was gay. His baseball team was playing the Elmdale team, and we got to talking at the barbecue afterwards. Josh was…hot.” Patrick’s cheeks flushed pink. “He was hot! And he’s funny and nice and plays baseball, and we had a good time together. It was so much better with Josh than it had been with other girls.”

“Well, I’d hope so,” David muttered, before he could stop himself.

Patrick shot him a rueful smile. “ _Everything_ was so much better, not—” he cleared his throat "—not just the sex. Although that was…” He trailed off, the faintest hint of a smile teasing the corners of his mouth. He gave his head a slight shake to clear it away. “Anyway. But I still wasn’t happy. On paper, it should have been great. I felt like maybe, someday, I could fall in love with him. Or at least like I _should_ have been able to fall in love with him. But it just...it just wasn’t right.”

He clasped his hands together and worried the muscle at the base of his thumb. “I’ve spent most of my life not feeling right. I dated beautiful, sweet girls, and I always tried so hard to make it work, but something was always missing. And then I finally figured out I was gay, and I thought, _this_. This is what the problem has been. But then...”

He scratched at a tiny imperfection on the coffee table for a moment before continuing. “On Friday, I went on a blind date with this guy, Ken. Someone from work set me up with him. He was cute and had a great smile, and it was fun and all. But when we kissed at the end of the date, it was...nothing.” He sighed, and David dared to reach over and place his right hand comfortingly on Patrick’s knee. Patrick trapped it under his own, sending sparks up David’s arm that he determinedly ignored. Patrick studied their hands while he talked. “I’ve had a lot of nothing kisses in my life, David. I thought I was finished with nothing kisses when I figured out that I had been dating the wrong gender the whole time.”

He finally looked up and met David’s eyes, his expression despondent. “I’m not heartbroken over Josh. I’m heartbroken because I feel like _I’m_ broken. Like, what if I'm never going to be happy? What if I never find someone--”

David shook his head quickly, cutting him off, and wrapped his left arm around Patrick’s shoulders, pulling him into his side. “Mm-mm-mm-mm-mm, no. You are definitely not broken. _You_ are funny, and nice, and...and hot.” Patrick looked up sharply at that, but David pushed on. “You’ve only been out of the closet for like, five months. You’ve only dated two guys. You will find someone who makes you laugh, and fits you, and sees you.” He gave Patrick a tiny shake. “Okay?”

Patrick shrugged. “Yeah, okay,” he said, unconvinced.

“All right, listen," David said, "I have dated like a thousand people. And been broken up with by most of them. If I've learned anything, it's that right now, we need to go out and do something fun. Get your mind off things for one night. Let’s go to that new bar that opened up downtown. Stevie, too. I’ll buy.”

Patrick raised his eyebrows. “You’re going to buy the drinks.”

“Um, excuse you, I am capable of doing nice things. Sometimes.”

Patrick waited, staring David down. David suppressed a shiver. “Fine, then, just consider it part of the queer welcome package.” He waved his hand flippantly. “Free drinks after your first gay breakup.”

“Okay, David.” Patrick gave him a genuine smile then, and David’s heart thumped traitorously.

Drinks. He could do drinks.

⛄️ ❄️ ⛄️

“Oh my god, is that a _piano_?” Patrick was practically bouncing with excitement as he pawed at David’s shoulder.

The bar was actually very nice. The interior was designed with rich slate gray walls and deep espresso wood furnishings, and the modern metal light fixtures were fitted with Edison bulbs that cast a warm yellow glow. Candles flickered along the bar and on every table, and the drink menu included original craft cocktails arranged by flavor profile. Drinks had been an excellent idea.

Drinks had also been a terrible idea, because apparently, drunk Patrick was basically an adorable Labrador Retriever puppy. That David desperately wanted to make out with. Or something. Things were getting a little fuzzy four drinks in.

“You should play something, Patrick!” Stevie encouraged with false sincerity, grinning maniacally at David. David glared daggers at her, but Patrick was oblivious to the silent exchange, instead smiling widely and looking at them with those big, dumb puppy dog eyes.

“Hey, did I ever tell you that I used to host open mic nights in high school?”

David grimaced. “You mean, like, you and your little high school friends would gather...and perform poetry, and...and songs? For one another?”

“Yeah, they drew a pretty big crowd!” Patrick looked back at the piano decisively. “I’m gonna do it.”

“Do what, exactly?” But Patrick was already too far away to hear David, making a beeline for the shiny black upright in the corner.

“Oh, this should be good.” Stevie sidled up to David and took a sip of her dried cherry Manhattan.

“Ugh.” David downed the rest of his French 75 in one go and cringed as Patrick experimentally plunked out a few notes.

But then he started to really play.

The vibrations of the music sent undulating ripples through the room, enveloping David in their comforting swell, and Patrick’s velvet tenor voice snuggled into David's chest, bringing with it a golden warmth. David felt the icy tension begin to melt out of his body.

_I want a snowfall kind of love  
_ _That lights up the sky from below.  
_ _I want a snowfall kind of love  
_ _That brings people to their windows._

David was transfixed watching Patrick’s hands as they caressed the piano keys, gliding from one chord to the next, gently coaxing the melody out of the tangle of harmonies. His voice was quiet and emotive, begging the universe for an answer to his anxieties, and David’s stomach twisted with empathy.

_Won’t you bury me in your quiet love?_ _  
_ _Oh, bury me in your quiet love.  
_ _Bury me in your quiet love.  
_ _And we will blow away._

The noise in the bar had quieted, and Patrick sang out stronger now, his forearms flexing as he put more weight into his playing, fingers dancing through glittering chord progressions. David only dimly registered Stevie’s hand gently squeezing his arm.

_I want a snowfall kind of love  
_ _The kind of that keeps you in bed all day_  
_Oh, I want to walk through it with you,  
_ _Watch it all melt away._

As whistles and applause filled the room, David touched his cheek and found it damp. He quickly wiped the tears away and turned to Stevie, instinctively defensive, but her eyes were shiny with emotion as she clapped with uncharacteristic enthusiasm.

She looked up at David’s pained expression. “I know. You are so screwed.”

David nodded defeatedly.

⛄️ ❄️ ⛄️

“That was a fun night,” Patrick said, just slightly slurred, once he and David were in the back of their shared Uber heading home. Stevie had gotten a separate ride back to Schitt’s Creek. “Thanks for taking me out. I do feel a little better.” He smiled warmly at David.

David swallowed thickly. “I’m glad.” His voice wobbled, and he cleared his throat to fight the emotions attempting to escape. “Hey, so I was thinking,” David began, quickly changing the subject, “I’ve been getting exactly nowhere with finding someone to take over doing the finances at the store. And I know you, and I trust you, and you know business, um, things, so would you maybe want to do it?”

“What, be the financial manager for the store?” Patrick blinked at him in surprise, suddenly much more sober, and David nodded. “David, I already have a job.”

“No, I know. It’s just that this would only be one or two days a week, and you could make your own hours, and I just thought that you might want a change of pace? To maybe help with, you know, all the...stuff...you're going through.” He winced at his awkward phrasing.

Patrick looked at him thoughtfully, his honey brown eyes wide and curious. David attempted to school his expression into something neutral, but open, as Patrick searched David's face for...something. Finally, seeming to have found what he was looking for, Patrick took a breath and said, “Okay, yes. I accept your job offer.”

David fought the smile that was threatening to show itself, that was threatening to reveal too much. “Great.”

“Great.” Patrick reached over and patted David’s knee twice before pulling it back to his own lap. David missed it immediately.


	3. Chapter 3

The late November midmorning sun glowed amber on the few yellow leaves that remained on the trees lining Elmdale’s Main Street, and a cool breeze disrupted their fallen brethren, lifting them into an airborne dance. David pulled his jacket tighter around himself to block the wind as he approached Wendy’s Marketplace. He found the door unlocked, and David’s stomach swooped with fondness knowing that Patrick must already be in the back room working.

It was Patrick’s second Tuesday at the store. In the week after he had accepted David’s job offer, he had rearranged his schedule with his boss at the small accounting firm where he worked most of the time, and David could now look forward to Patrick’s calming presence in the store on Tuesdays and Saturdays. It was a significant improvement over Wendy’s company.

David called out a greeting to Patrick and began preparing the store for opening: straightening and replenishing displays, turning bottles and jars to face the correct way, and making sure clothes hangers were evenly spaced. In the quiet stillness, he let his mind wander, contemplating his mental moodboards for holiday displays and how to rearrange the store to increase sales on less popular products. It was a soothing routine to practice each morning, and David felt a deep sense of contentment in putting things right and looking around at a perfectly-arranged store. A place for everything, and everything in its place. He nodded, satisfied, and with no customers in sight yet, David pulled out his phone to check his Twitter feed. He scrolled aimlessly for a moment, until his fingers froze at the sight of Sebastien’s name.

David felt a wave of nausea roll through him. Sebastien had been David’s longest relationship, and also, in the end, one of the worst. David had fallen hard for him in his late 20s, and had felt for the first time like someone might actually like him for who he was, rather than just what he could give. When he found out Sebastien had been seeing other people for nearly a month, somehow Sebastien had been the one to dump _him,_ leaving David a broken mess for the better part of a year. Emotion rushed through his body like a runaway train, weakening his knees and forcing him to steady himself on the cash. He _hated_ that years later, the mere memory of a shitty relationship—with an even shittier person—could still make him relive every terrible thing he’d felt, heard, done, and had done to him during those almost-four months.

Against his better judgment, David clicked the link and began to read. He only got two and a half questions into the interview before he couldn’t stomach any more of Sebastien’s pompous, self-indulgent bullshit, and he tossed his phone angrily onto the cash. He pounded a fist on the counter and let out a groan of frustration and disgust.

Patrick poked his head out of the back room, his eyebrows furrowed, his mouth downturned. “Is everything okay?”

“Ugh, yeah, sorry. It’s just my ex.” David gestured to his phone.

“What, did they text you or something?”

David scoffed. “Imagine? No. There’s a New York Magazine interview with him that came out today, and it showed up on my Twitter feed.”

“I don’t... Why is that so bad?”

“It’s just him.” David grimaced, embarrassed. “It was...not a good relationship. A really fucking awful relationship, actually. I just wasn’t expecting to see his name today.” He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, hoping to relieve the static that filled his head and calm his racing heartbeat.

He felt a tentative hand on his back, and he whipped his head around to see that Patrick had moved closer.

“Is this okay?” Patrick asked, low and quiet. David squeezed his eyes shut and nodded. He turned back to face the cash, flattening his palms on the counter and dropping his head to his chest. Patrick rubbed comforting circles between David’s shoulder blades, and he focused on the press of Patrick’s hand, using the steady rhythm of the movement to measure his deep inhales and exhales. As the cacophony in David’s brain quieted, his muscles relaxed and the world slowly came back into focus. David took one more shuddering breath and stood back up to his full height. He turned slowly to face Patrick, who was looking up at him with eyes full of compassion.

“Thank you,” David whispered.

Patrick gave him a small smile. “How are you doing now?”

David breathed. “Better.”

⛄️ ❄️ ⛄️

David passed the rest of the day in the disorienting haze that always lingered after an anxiety attack. He accidentally recommended toner for dry skin to a customer who clearly had combination, pulled out a medium sweater for a customer who had asked for a large, and dropped a box of lotion as he carried it out from the back, sending bottles rolling across the floor. He finally admitted defeat that evening after losing count of the till for the third time, and he called out to Patrick for help. Patrick did the count without comment, and then turned back to David.

“Do you and Stevie want to come over tonight? We can watch a movie? Play some games? I’ll pick up snacks on my way home.” He shifted the laptop bag that was slung over his shoulder.

“You don’t have to do that,” David deflected. The last thing he needed was pity, but it actually sounded...nice. Really nice.

“No, no, I’d like to. You’re my friend, and today was hard for you. I want to help. If you think this might help.”

“It might help,” David acquiesced.

“Great. How about 7:30?”

“Okay. I’ll text Stevie.” David pulled his phone out of his pocket, and then paused mid-text to look back at Patrick. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Patrick patted his shoulder and turned to head for the door. “I’ll see you later, David.”

⛄️ ❄️ ⛄️

David lolled his head against the back cushion of Patrick’s couch, his brain delightfully fuzzy from the combined forces of Patrick’s wine and Stevie’s weed. The couch fabric felt scratchy under his skin. Was this color more graphite or smoke? But there were also flecks of white in it. Maybe light charcoal? This lighting kind of had a yellow tinge. Was it actually pewter?

“I don’t know, David. I think it’s more like elephant. Or hippopotamus,” Patrick laughed from where he was lying on his back on the floor, because he was a man-child who needed more seating options in his apartment than a single couch.

Stevie snorted. “Duct tape. Cinder block. Stainless steel refrigerator. Oh, hey! Do we have any more ice cream?” She stood up from her place next to David and wandered off towards Patrick’s kitchen, her question hanging in the air unanswered.

Patrick rolled over onto his stomach and propped himself up on folded arms. “Feeling better?”

David flopped down onto his back and shoved a throw pillow under his head, not sure how to answer the question. “Yes? Yes. But also no. I mean, feel less out of control right now than I did earlier, so that’s something.” He twisted one of his silver rings around his finger. “I’m just thinking about my life before. Sebastien was an asshole, and he really hurt me. But I was an asshole back then, too.” He hazarded a glance at Patrick.

“Just back then, huh?” Patrick’s eyes were sparkling, his mouth pulled tight in a downturned smile.

Patrick had been conspicuously careful with him all day, and David felt the world shift one tick closer back to right with his gentle teasing.

“I’m a pillar of this community, I’ll have you know. I’m a _business_ _owner_.”

“Well, a forty percent owner.”

Stevie returned to the couch, then, an opened bottle of cabernet in one hand and a bag of Cheetos in the other. “Speaking of being an asshole, Patrick, did I ever tell you about David’s first day in Schitt’s Creek?” She set her snacks on the coffee table and forcibly bent David’s knees, reclaiming her spot on the couch.

“You know, I think Meg and Tom are starting to get impatient,” David interjected, sitting up slightly and pointing at the _You’ve Got Mail_ Netflix preview page that they had pulled up on the TV half an hour ago.

“Oh, no, I definitely think I need to hear this right now. I’m sure Meg and Tom won’t mind waiting another couple minutes, David,” Patrick said, voice full of mirth. David groaned and flung himself back down.

⛄️ ❄️ ⛄️

“I owned some galleries back in New York,” David said later. They had eventually started the movie, once Stevie and Patrick had finally stopped giggling over “thrice” and the motel's imaginary hammam spa. Stevie had made it less than fifteen minutes before falling asleep, and she was now curled up and lightly snoring as Meg Ryan and her friends sang about the horn sounding so forlorn.

David looked at Patrick to be sure he had heard him.

“Yeah, you told me.” Patrick sat up from where he had still been lying on the floor and hugged his knees to his chest.

David looked up at the ceiling. The previous owners had opted for a hideous popcorn situation. He had some choice words for whomever had invented that atrocity.

“That’s how I met Sebastien. He’s a photographer. After he...after we broke up, I always wondered if that was the only reason he was with me.” David searched for constellations among the bumps on the ceiling. “He didn’t respect me. He didn’t really _know_ me.” David found the Big Dipper. “I didn’t really let anyone know me. My Black Card was the only thing interesting about me.” Orion’s Belt. Cassiopeia. “I was...not a good person back then. I’m still not. Not really.”

Silence stretched between them. NY152 and Shopgirl click-clacked messages to each other on their noisy 1998 computer keyboards.

Patrick's voice was steady when he finally spoke. “David, I don't really know what things were like for you before, but I'd like to think that I know you pretty well right now. And right now, you are good to your family, and to your friends, and to the customers at the store, and personally, I don’t know what I would have done without your help with the whole Josh thing. You’re a good person, David.”

David’s heart dropped to his stomach. Because that was the thing: Patrick may not have known him before, but he didn't _really_ know him now, either, did he? David had been good to his family before. Alexis, especially. He had been generous with his friends before, or the people he thought were his friends, anyway. He had been amicable with patrons at his gallery before. But those surface qualities weren't everything a person was; weren't everything _David_ was. He _liked_ Patrick. He wanted to show Patrick only the best parts of himself, but it wasn't as if the good parts just erased the bad. What was he supposed to say?

_Well, Patrick, let me tell you more about New York. I went to every club, took every drug, fucked everyone. I spent money like it sprang from a well that would never dry up, because for me, it basically did. I was cruel to anyone I didn’t feel like I needed to impress, and, as it turns out, all of the people I was trying so hard to impress were actually narcissistic leeches who were only interested in me when I was footing the bill. And now I'm here, and you are so nice, and really, none if this is selfless, or even good, because the real reason I'm helping you is that I_ like _you, more than I've liked anyone else, ever, and I'm just holding out on the pathetic hope that one day you'll want me as much as I want you_.

David couldn’t say any of that. So instead, he looked back at Meg and Tom, who were slowly falling head over heels for each other, and decided to torture himself further. “Have you ever been in love?” he asked.

Patrick looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. “I don’t know. I’ve told women I loved them, but in retrospect, I wasn’t really _in_ love with them. Because, you know. Gay." He gestured demonstratively down his body. "What about you? Have you ever been in love? Were you in love with—”

“No. I think I thought I was, but...no.” He grimaced at the bitter taste of the truth bubbling up on his tongue. “I’ve only said it three times.”

“What, ‘I love you’? Only three times _ever_?”

“Yeah. Twice to my parents—one of those times was in Schitt’s Creek—and once at a Mariah Carey concert. I screamed it at her from the audience.”

“David…” Patrick’s voice was full of pity, which David was wholly uninterested in. He sat bolt upright on the couch.

“You know, we should make a Tinder profile for you. Or Grindr? But I don’t think that’s what you’re looking for right now. I mean, it’s fine if it is,” he babbled. “But I promised you that you would find someone, so let’s make that happen.”

“Uhh, okay. If you think that’s a good idea.”

“Yes, definitely. I’ll help you.”

Onscreen, NY152 typed to Shopgirl: _Do you ever feel you’ve become the worst possible version of yourself? That a Pandora’s box of all the secret, hateful parts—your arrogance, your spite, your condescension—has sprung open?_

David had been that person before. But with Patrick, he planned on keeping that box locked up tight.

⛄️ ❄️ ⛄️

David woke on Wednesday morning and immediately buried his nose deeper under the covers in deference to the cold. He willed himself back to sleep, but too soon, the blaring of his alarm pierced through the blissful quiet. He groaned and stuck one arm out of the covers, reaching blindly for his phone to silence the offending sound.

Forty-five minutes and nine snoozes later, he dragged himself out of bed and dug his coziest sweater out of his cedar chest, pulling it gingerly over his head as he descended the stairs in search of coffee. But before he could make it to the kitchen, he froze at the view through the living room window.

It had snowed overnight, and there it was again, in the front yard: red scarf, plaid trapper hat, wooden sign. David rolled his eyes. He was not even close to in the mood to deal with such an affront to all taste and decency before 9 a.m. He turned toward the kitchen to start the coffee, and picked up the note Stevie had left on the counter.

David huffed a laugh in resignation. He leaned against the counter and closed his eyes, letting the bitter aroma of the brewing coffee wash over him and slowly wake up his senses.

The emotional hangover from yesterday was hitting him hard, sending him on a rollercoaster of residual anger and hurt mixed with regret and embarrassment. What he had shared with Patrick was a tiny drop in a vast sea of damage, but he had entered uncharted waters by opening up at all. Part of him wished he had followed a more familiar path and just let the inebriants do all the work of making the day disappear, but if he was honest with himself, David was relieved to have finally let go of even an infinitesimal piece of his past.

He could have thanked the weed, or the wine, or his fragile emotional state for allowing himself to let down a few of his protective walls, but really, it was just Patrick. Patrick, who was thoughtful, and caring, and _nice._ He was so nice. He teased David with just the right amount of kindness, and cared for him with just the right amount of edge, and he made David feel seen and understood in a way no one else had even bothered to attempt. And Patrick just...did it. Without asking anything in return, without having to work at it, he was there, steady and strong, waiting to catch David when he needed it and support him when he was ready to stand on his own again.

David felt lucky, so lucky, to have Patrick's friendship. Patrick made David want to be better, want to be stronger, want to be a good person, and he didn’t want to mess up what they had for anything. He had never been anyone's first choice for a romantic relationship—not for long, anyway—so if friendship was all he could ever have with Patrick, maybe that was okay. David could keep trying to be the person Patrick saw, keep trying to shake off the weight of who he used to be, keep trying to be worthy of being Patrick's friend. For Patrick, he could keep trying to be better.

David blinked his eyes back open slowly, and then took a breath, poured himself a cup of coffee, and prepared to face the day.

⛄️ ❄️ ⛄️

David opened his front door to a shoveled walkway, and Patrick's gesture of kindness settled warmly in his heart. As he walked to his car, David spared a glance at the new snowman’s message.

Judy Garland’s voice floated through David’s mind on a wave of nostalgia.

_Let your heart be light_   
_Next year all our troubles_   
_Will be out of sight._

Maybe they would be.


	4. Chapter 4

Patrick  
  
**Today** 10:14 AM  
**David:** {{IMG_7842.jpg}}  
  
**David:** Is this ever going to end?  
  
**Patrick:** I mean, it's December in Ontario, David. I'm guessing we're in for at least a little more snow.  
  
**David:** Not the snow. The snowman. Again. It looks like a child lives here.  
  
**Patrick:** Well, we certainly don't want that.  
  
**David:** Exactly. So this ends now?  
  
**Patrick:** Nope!  
  
**David:** Couldn't you have at least chosen a better song?  
  
**Patrick:** I'm sorry, are you insulting QUEEN?  
  
**David:** "A cozy fireside chat, a little this, a little that"?  
  
**David:** Not my favorite, if I'm being honest.  
  
**Patrick:** I'll be sure to pass on your critiques to Brian and Roger.  
  
**David:** See that you do.  
  


Patrick  
  
11:22 AM  
**Patrick:** So, I was thinking about going ice skating today.  
  
**David:** Normally I would scold you for sportsing on what is supposed to be a day of rest, but I will make an exception for ice skating.  
  
**David:** It has a very lovely aesthetic and causes minimal sweating.  
  
**Patrick:** How magnanimous of you.  
  
**Patrick:** Have you ever been to Gage Park? I've heard it's really beautiful.  
  
**David:** No, I spent the last two winters languishing in a dirty motel in Schitt's Creek.  
  
**Patrick:** I thought Stevie owned the motel?  
  
**David:** I stand by my statement.  
  
**Patrick:** Ah.  
  
**Patrick:** Anyway, do you want to come with?  
  
**Patrick:** Since we both have the day off.  
  


⛄️ ❄️ ⛄️

“David, is this a date?” 

“No, of course not.” Patrick waved at them from a few meters down the skating trail, a grin on his face. “See?”

Stevie raised an eyebrow. “Exactly what did he say to you earlier?”

“He asked if I wanted to go ice skating at [ Gage Park ](https://media-cdn.tripadvisor.com/media/photo-s/0a/43/6d/2b/gage-park.jpg) today, since we both have the day off. He said he heard it was really beautiful.” Stevie looked at him expectantly, gesturing for him to continue. “And I said, sounds great. Stevie has Sundays off, too. I’ll text her.”

Stevie shook her head. “You’re an idiot.”

“This is not a date! He literally just broke up with his boyfriend.”

“Two months ago. And I thought you set up a Tinder profile for him last week?”

“We’re neighbors! And friends! And we work together!”

“And...”

"And he's not into me. He's into, like, the clean-cut, class president, varsity athlete thing. I'm not his type."

"Who are you trying to convince, exactly?"

David bared his teeth at her in response and turned to where Patrick was confidently skating towards them, and the inside of David’s mouth suddenly turned drier than the Sahara. Patrick’s shearling-lined, saddle brown suede bomber jacket stretched tantalizingly across his chest and shoulders, and a few errant curls near his forehead peeked out from underneath his navy blue toque. His nose and cheeks were flushed pink from the early December cold, and his hockey skates sent up a shower of glittering ice crystals as he skidded to a stop at David’s feet. He looked like a fucking Hallmark Christmas movie leading man come to life.

“Hey.” The puff of Patrick's frozen breath hung in the air and ghosted across David’s cheeks, and the extra few inches of height Patrick had gained from his skates meant that his sparkling, whiskey brown eyes looked directly into David’s. His expression was open and bright, and David couldn’t help the smile that bloomed across his face before he caught himself and tucked it between his teeth.

“Hey,” David breathed.

“Hi, Patrick!” Stevie sing-songed, falsely cheerful. 

Patrick shifted his gaze to David’s left. “Hey, Stevie. So glad you could join us!” He smiled brightly at her. “Do you guys want to get your skates on?” He gestured to the nearby bench. David sat down to pull his black figure skates out of his bag. He hadn’t been ice skating since before his family came to Schitt’s Creek, and he wiggled with happiness at the comfortable familiarity of the tight hug around his feet and ankles as he laced up his skates. 

He was shaken out of his reverie with one glance at Stevie’s feet. “What are _those_?”

“Oh, these?” she said, gesturing to the cracked brown leather of her ancient skates. “These are from Rick Owens’ new winter collection, David. I’m surprised you didn’t recognize them.”

“Mmkay. Did you find these skates on the side of the road, or…?”

“Not that it's any of your business, but I borrowed them from Twyla.” She set her shoulders defensively.

“Who’s Twyla?” Patrick interjected.

“She’s the waitress at the cafe in Schitt’s Creek,” Stevie answered. “We’ve known each other since we were kids, and I don’t have any skates, so…”

“Wait, you don’t have skates? What kind of Canadian are you?” David asked, incredulous. “Even I have skates, and I’m basically only tangentially Canadian at this point.”

Stevie shot him a withering look. “If you must know, I don’t...really skate.” The end of her sentence trailed off. “I can get around okay, but it’s...not great.” She shrugged self-consciously. 

Patrick, ever the boy scout, stepped in. “No worries, Stevie! David and I are happy to help. Right, David?”

David sighed and stood from the bench, holding out a gloved hand. “Come on, let's skate.”

⛄️ ❄️ ⛄️

Stevie wasn’t exaggerating. If anything, she had oversold her abilities. Once they had put their bags in a locker and made their way onto the ice, she had turned into a newborn fawn on trembling legs, stumbling and slipping her way around the skating trail, and she stayed close to the railing in case her feet decided to make a sudden emergency exit out from under her. The pom-pom on her bright red hat bobbed wildly in warning to anyone who dared to pass too close to her flailing limbs.

Patrick skated backwards in front of Stevie with hands outstretched for her to grab onto whenever she lost her balance, calling out encouragements as they moved around the skating trail at glacial speed. David hovered nearby, poised to catch Stevie if she wobbled too far in the wrong direction. When David had imagined a day of ice skating with Patrick, he had pictured himself gliding elegantly across the ice, looking effortlessly graceful and beautiful as snow flurries sparkled on his eyelashes. This was...not that.

Mercifully, after twenty torturous minutes, they were approaching the bench where they had started.

“Okay, I’m out,” Stevie panted. “I’m calling it. I’ll renounce my citizenship tomorrow.”

Patrick and David helped Stevie navigate her way across the traffic on the ice to get to the bench, where she immediately collapsed with a deep exhale of relief. They sat down on either side of her to put on their skate guards, but before David had even finished wiping down one of his blades, Patrick was already standing up again.

“I’m just going to go get something from my bag. I’ll be right back.”

David craned his neck to watch Patrick walk towards the lockers. His gait was stilted from the effort of balancing on his ice skates, but they were doing excellent things for his ass, so David really couldn’t complain. He turned back to Stevie, who was staring at him with a shit-eating grin on her face.

“May I help you?”

“Oh, no, no. I was just wondering if you’d figured out what brand of jeans he’s wearing today.”

“Paige,” David answered absently. “You can tell by the tag on the back left pocket.” Stevie’s eyes lit up, and David’s cheeks heated when he realized what he had just admitted to. “Shut up!” He waved her off.

Patrick returned less than a minute later, carrying a large Thermos and three speckled blue enamel camping mugs. “Spiked hot cider?” he offered.

“Oh my god, I love you,” Stevie moaned. She made grabby hands at Patrick, and he chuckled as he poured her the first mug. He filled the other two and held one out to David before carefully replacing the cap on the Thermos and setting it on the bench between him and Stevie.

David cupped the mug in both gloved hands, bringing it close to his face and inhaling the spicy scent of cinnamon, apple, and whiskey. He took a few sips and sighed contentedly as the sweet cider settled inside him like an embrace, warming him to the bone. He turned to smile at Patrick in silent thanks, then looked back at the ice in front of him. 

Skaters glided past in a kaleidoscope of courageous fashion choices, the sound of their conversations and laughter muffled by the snowy wonderland surrounding them. Groups of friends, families with children (no, thank you), couples holding hands. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw two women skating together, and he shifted his attention to them in time to see one spin around to face the other and pull her in for a kiss. They stumbled a bit from their leftover momentum, and giggled as they pulled away and continued on, mittened hands clasped. A sharp pang of longing prickled inside David’s chest, and he took another drink of cider to chase it away.

“I think I’m gonna go skate around again.” Patrick’s voice gently broke through the quiet cold surrounding them. “Do either of you want to join me?”

Stevie scoffed. “Um, no, thanks, I’m good. I’ll just go ahead and stay here with my good friends bench and whiskey.” She picked up the Thermos and hugged it to her chest, giving it an affectionate pat.

Patrick laughed. “David?”

David considered for a moment before answering. On the one hand, spiked hot cider. But on the other... 

“Sure, I’ll go.”

David and Patrick tucked their skate guards into the breast pockets of their coats, and set out on a much more relaxing second lap. They glided comfortably side by side, the occasional shoulder bump sending ripples of electricity through David’s body. The air was colder on David’s cheeks now that they were moving along at a normal human pace, and he brought his hands up to his face to block the wind for a moment. Patrick and David’s breathing synced with the metallic swish-swish of their skates on the ice, and David felt a long-forgotten sense of calm wash over him. 

David looked around to be sure there weren’t any other skaters nearby, and then pushed ahead with more purpose, stretching old muscle memories and setting himself up for a spin. The colors around him blended together in swirls of whites, browns, and blues as he pulled his arms in to increase his speed, and the slight dizziness in David’s brain muted the ambient sounds. The world faded away, and his only focus was on the movement of his own body on the ice.

As he exited the spin and slowed to a stop, he caught sight of Patrick skating up to him. “This is what I was hoping for when you invited me to come today,” David said, breathlessly.

“Oh yeah? What do you mean?” Patrick asked, as they continued along the trail.

“I mean, this is what I love about skating. It’s so rhythmic, but also freeing? Um, I used to do it a lot when I was a kid. It’s always felt almost like mediation to me. Actually, it kind of reminds me of this amazing week-long silent retreat in Thailand I went on a while back. You just let the serenity overtake you.” He paused, noticing the smirk playing on Patrick’s lips. “What?” he asked, affronted.

“Oh, nothing, I was just trying to imagine you being silent for a week.”

“Yes, well, I may have had a few slip-ups.” He held back a smile, scrunching up his lips at the effort.

“Mhm.” Patrick glanced over at David, his expression warm and open, but his focus suddenly shifted to a point across the lawn. “Hey, look, there’s a fire pit over there. How did we miss that the first time around?”

“I can’t imagine,” David deadpanned, earning him a small laugh from Patrick.

“Come on, let’s go sit. We’ll have a little fireside chat.” David stopped in his tracks with an exaggerated scrape of a toe pick against the ice and crossed his arms petulantly, but Patrick kept talking as he skated away. “You know, a little this, a little that?” He turned his head and threw a terrible half-wink over his shoulder, and David’s stomach fluttered, because it was stupid, and didn’t have eyes, and couldn’t see that Patrick looked ridiculous. 

“I think I like that song even less now,” David called out, but his feet betrayed his tone and followed Patrick of their own accord, pulled by an invisible force.

They pulled on their skate guards and hobbled gracelessly towards the fire pit, and they settled into two Adirondack chairs next to each other. As David stretched out his legs to let the heat of the fire thaw his frozen toes, he watched the flames dance, sending up clouds of white vapor where they married with the frigid air. 

“Skating doesn’t really feel meditative to me,” Patrick said, after a few moments of comfortable silence.

“No? Is analyzing spreadsheets your preferred method of finding inner peace, then?”

“No, I usually go on week-long silent retreats in Thailand for that." He tilted his chin and raised his eyebrows in jest. David scowled at him. "No, no. My skating was always for hockey. So, kind of the opposite of meditative, actually. I do understand the nostalgia piece of it, though.” Patrick smiled to himself. “Whenever I skate, I feel like I’m back in high school, playing shinny with my friends on the pond in my hometown. That was freeing, too. Like, in that moment, nothing else mattered but the game.”

“Mm, yes. The game.” David looked pointedly at Patrick and quirked an eyebrow. “All that adrenaline and sweating and bumping into each other. Definitely no memories of any cute boys associated with that, I’m sure.”

Patrick flushed high on his cheekbones, and he smiled impishly at David. “Well. Maybe.”

David shimmied his shoulders in response, and the blush on Patrick's cheeks deepened. “Speaking of," David said, "how is the dating thing going? Any luck on Tinder yet?”

Patrick gave him an inscrutable look. “Uh, I’m not really sure how it’s going, I guess. And no, I haven’t really used Tinder.” 

David fingers ached to rub away the line of tension that had appeared between Patrick’s eyebrows, and he gripped the armrests of the chair to keep himself from reaching out. “You should!" he said, wincing at the false brightness in his own voice. He cleared his throat. "You should," he repeated, this time less frantic. "You’re a great guy, Patrick. You’ll be drowning in matches.”

“Um, okay. Sure.” Patrick stood up quickly. Embarrassed, maybe, or at least a little self-conscious. “Hey, we should probably get back there before Stevie either freezes to death or gets completely drunk off the rest of the cider.”

“Oh, yeah, you don’t have to worry about that,” David said, as he stood to follow Patrick. “She is one hundred percent already drunk.” Patrick gave him a half smile. “And hey, I meant it, before,” David insisted, swallowing the bile he felt rising in his throat. “I know you said you felt like you’re broken, but you’re not. You really are great, Patrick. You deserve to find someone."

“Thanks, David.” Patrick gave him a sad look before pushing back onto the skating trail to head towards Stevie, and David’s heart broke for this beautiful, thoughtful man who just needed proof that he wasn’t damaged. And, if he was being honest, his heart broke a little bit for himself, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 


	5. Chapter 5

David froze with one foot out his front door, mouth agape. The late December temperatures were consistently cold enough now that the snow didn’t completely melt away between storms, and the slightly-shrunken snowman from the last snowfall was still standing in the middle of the lawn. But this morning, it wasn’t alone.

They had gotten a few centimeters of new snow last night, and Patrick and David’s shared yard was now transformed into basecamp for an army of tiny snowmen. They were led by their giant general, three-weeks-old snowman, who was currently sporting a pair of knock-off RayBans. About half of the soldiers were holding miniature wooden signs, each with one word written on them. “Make,” “say,” “never,” “hurt,” and a handful of other words were scattered among them.

What the fuck was this?

⛄️ ❄️ ⛄️

Other than the snowman invasion that morning, and the glares David pointedly shot at Patrick every time he stepped out of the back office to take a break, Tuesday was relatively uneventful.

He restocked, and he thought about it. He did inventory, and he thought about it. He smoothly upsold customers who had inexplicably waited to do their shopping until there was less than a week before Christmas, and he thought about it.

He turned the words over and over in his mind all day. And suddenly, it clicked.

“You RICKROLLED me?!” he exploded, as he stormed into the back office.

Patrick blinked at him owlishly. “David, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Would I do that to you? We’ve known each other for so long.”

David narrowed his eyes. “Stop.”

“But David, I’ve gotta make you understand. I’ve been building snowmen for almost three months now, and I’ve always chosen songs about winter. You know the rules, and so do I.”

David spun on his heel and stomped out of the room.

“Wait, come back! I just wanna tell you how I’m feeling!”

David stuck a single hand back through the doorway, middle finger raised. He kept the music of Patrick's answering laugh playing on repeat in his head all afternoon.


	6. Chapter 6

Christmas Eve dawned bright and sunny, but by late morning, dark clouds had rolled in and the wind had picked up, and the snowstorm that had been predicted seemed like an inevitability.

Patrick walked out of the back office and joined David behind the cash register as he finished up a sale.

“It’s looking like it’s going to get pretty bad out there,” he said, once David had wished the customer a happy holiday. “I don’t think I’m going to make it to my parents’ tonight.”

“Couldn’t you leave now?”

“No, I already talked with my mom. Apparently the storm is coming from the northwest and Sudbury is already in whiteout conditions. I’d be driving into the worst of it.” He shrugged. “It’s not ideal, but I can head out tomorrow morning and be there for Christmas dinner tomorrow afternoon. I may as well stick around and get some more end-of-the-year paperwork done.”

David nodded. “I think I’m going to stay, too. We’ve been making tons of sales, especially with people picking up things for holiday parties, so I really don’t want to close up early.” He looked out the window again, where he could see fat snowflakes starting to fall. “I might not be able to make it to Schitt’s Creek for my dad’s party tonight, though.”

Patrick raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t know your dad was having a party.”

“He wasn’t? Alexis texted me earlier, and apparently, he woke up this morning and suddenly decided he wanted to recreate the glory days, when we used to have these big, lavish parties.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m not sure how exactly that translates into my mom’s singing group caroling in front of her wig wall, but here we are.”

“Her wig...what?” Patrick frowned in confusion, then waved away the words. “Never mind. Are you sure you don’t want to go?”

“Yeah, it’s okay. I’m not driving through this and losing sales.”

Patrick snorted. “Okay, Ebeneezer. Well, since it looks like we’re both stuck in Elmdale tonight, do you want to come over? It’s no fun to be alone on Christmas Eve.”

“Mmm, yes, we can hang out tonight, but not in your creepy, barren, serial killer's house. Come to my house instead. It’s very tastefully decorated for the holidays.”

“Hey, I have decorations!” Patrick clutched his heart in mock offense. “You wound me.”

David quirked a skeptical eyebrow. “And by decorations, do you mean an artificial tree with pre-wired multicolored lights?”

“Um, maybe.”

“That’s what I thought. Come over at eight.”

⛄️ ❄️ ⛄️

David and Patrick moved around each other in David’s kitchen as if it were a practiced dance, gathering cheese and dried fruit, slicing up baguettes and sausages, and opening jars of olives and sun-dried tomatoes. David arranged everything artfully on a platter while Patrick took out wine glasses and opened a bottle of merlot. Patrick had pulled up Diana Krall’s Christmas album on Spotify (“It’s exactly like the music you play at the store! You’re gonna like it, trust me.”), and David had to admit (to himself, not to Patrick, obviously) that the soft harmonies of the jazz combo and the sonorous timbre of Diana’s contralto voice were, in fact, a good choice for the evening. David had set the table with candles and greenery and clean white plates, and they talked as they ate: about the store, about their families, about music and movies, about nothing in particular. It was all painfully domestic, and David was electric with joy over the simple act of spending a quiet night at home with this incredible man. Not that he let it show.

“What were your Christmases like growing up?” David asked, as he built his fourth miniature cheddar, sausage, and dried apricot sandwich.

Patrick leaned back in his chair and reached up to lace his hands behind his head. The arms of his sweater stretched deliciously around his biceps, and David instinctively leaned into their gravitational pull before catching himself and retreating to safety against the back of his chair. “They were pretty typical, I think. Decorating the tree, cookies for Santa, presents in our PJs on Christmas morning, and then my extended family would come over and I would play with my cousins until dinner.” He shrugged. “It was nice.”

“So, like in the movies.”

Patrick laughed, and the grin that split his face made David’s heart stutter in his chest. “I guess so, yeah. Tell me more about these parties your family used to have.”

David hummed around a bite. “Well, they were big, and they were fun. You know, food, drinks, music, except with a massive budget. The last one we had, before, uh, before everything, we had Paul Shaffer on the piano.”

Patrick dropped his arms and leaned forward in his chair, eyes bulging. “Paul Shaffer? Like—”

“Yes, like that Paul Shaffer. Oh, and I remember I wore this amazing Dries van Noten tuxedo.” David sighed at the memory, reliving the snug feeling of the buttery-soft, perfectly tailored jacket and pants. “There should be more reasons to wear a tuxedo.”

David noticed a flush creeping above Patrick’s collar. Was it too warm in here? Maybe he should turn off the fireplace.

“Well, to be honest, I was a little taken aback to see you just wearing a sweater tonight. I did pull out my finest Levi’s for the occasion. You could have at least made a little effort.”

“Um, this is Christopher Kane? And it definitely cost more than your whole outfit, shoes included, so.”

Patrick chuckled. “I stand corrected.”

David looked down at his plate and pushed an olive around with his fork, weighing his next words carefully. “But...I also remember an issue with the chef? And I didn’t handle it well with him. Something about capers, I think. And the family gift exchange was really just Mom handing me and Alexis each a check. And then Alexis took off with her boyfriend at the time. I’m pretty sure they left to go sailing on his yacht for a few weeks.” He speared the olive and popped it in his mouth. “The parties were fun. But, um, there are some positives to being here, too. Maybe. Occasionally.”

“I’m glad, David.” Patrick’s voice was soft and fond; his mouth curved up in a small smile.

David held his gaze and tucked a smile into his cheek, allowing himself to bask in the glow of Patrick’s presence: his kind face, his expressive eyes, his brilliant smile. Just being near him made David feel settled in a way he never had before, as if his anxieties were magically siphoned away by Patrick’s equanimity.

Patrick broke eye contact first, looking down to reach for his wine glass and then tilting it up sharply to swallow the dregs. David cleared his throat and shook off the moment. “Let’s take care of these dishes, and then I am _very_ interested in some hot chocolate. I have marshmallows and whipped cream.” Patrick opened his mouth to speak, but David cut him off with a single finger in the air. “Wait. I feel like you’re about to tell me which one of those you want? But actually, I have to tell you that the only correct way to drink hot chocolate is with both.”

Patrick’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “But David, I was going to say that I actually prefer just plain hot chocolate. I really feel that extra additions take away from the way it was intended to be enjoyed.”

“Mm. Well, it was originally intended to be enjoyed cold and unsweetened. So if you’re really looking for authenticity, I’m sure we can make that happen,” David said dryly.

Patrick snorted. A real, honest-to-god snort, and David, to his dismay, was charmed. “All right, well, it’s Christmas, and it’s your house, so I suppose I can give marshmallows and whipped cream a try, instead.”

“Excellent choice.” David stood to start clearing dishes, and Patrick followed.

⛄️ ❄️ ⛄️

“God, I love Kate Winslet’s cottage in this.”

“Really? I would have thought Cameron Diaz’s mansion was more your style.”

“I guess it used to be. But look at this! All the stonework, and the wooden beams? It’s stunning.” David thought for a moment. “Plus, it comes with Jude Law.”

“Mm, true. Can’t argue with that.” Patrick leaned forward to put his empty mug on the coffee table. “I like his hair here. Long enough to grab onto." He waggled his nearly-invisible eyebrows at David.

As David’s mind buffered trying to process _that_ , the room was suddenly plunged into darkness, except for the dim glow of the fireplace. "Fuck. The lights."

Patrick stood to move towards the window, bumping into the armchair on the way. "Ow. Shit." He cupped his hands against the glass and peered outside. "The whole street looks dark. The storm must have knocked out the power everywhere." He turned back to David with a shrug. "What do you want to want to do now?"

David’s mind ran through a series of increasingly terrible ideas.

_Huddle together for warmth._

No.

_The blankets on my bed are very good insulators. Let's go up there._

No.

_Actually, I've heard that the best way to conserve body heat is to take off our clothes and stay skin-to-skin._

Oh my god, NO.

"Um, we can watch the rest of the movie on my laptop? I have a digital copy."

Patrick laughed. "Of course you do."

David used the flashlight on his phone to dig out some more candles while Patrick split the last of their mostly-drunk bottle of wine between two glasses. They sat back on the couch and David placed his laptop on the coffee table to search for the file he needed. He had thought it was in his main Documents folder. Wasn’t it just labeled “The Holiday”? Maybe it was in Movies? No. Wait, yes! There. “The_Holiday.” Why had he put that stupid undersc—

“I used to be engaged,” Patrick said, suddenly.

David snapped his head up. “I’m sorry, what? You...you were—”

“Engaged, yeah,” Patrick sighed. “Her name was Rachel. Is Rachel. We got together back in high school. We were together for almost fifteen years. On and off, anyway.”

“Fifteen years,” David breathed. “Holy shit, Patrick.” David couldn’t think of much that had been a constant in his life for fifteen years, besides his family, sort of. Hell, even his original nose hadn’t lasted fifteen years.

“Yeah, um, she was my best friend, you know? She knew everything about me.” He huffed a laugh. “Or, I mean, she knew everything that I also knew about myself, I guess. And once we graduated college and moved in together, I just figured marriage was the next logical step. So I bought a ring, and I made a plan, and I proposed to her on Christmas Eve last year.”

“ _Last year?_ ” David sputtered. His head was swimming. “So this was, um, this was really recently.”

“Yeah.” Patrick turned sideways on the couch to face David and tucked one socked foot under his opposite leg. “So this time last year was...very, very different. Last Christmas was one of the worst of my life. Rachel was _so happy_.” He picked at a thread that had come loose from the stitching on his jeans. “We told our families, and everyone was so excited, and she was just glowing. And I tried to feel happy because she was, but it just made everything worse. I spent most of Christmas in kind of a fog, feeling nauseous. It was awful.”

He looked up to meet David’s eyes again. “And then after, I kept thinking that when the fuss of the engagement died down, things would go back to normal, but I still felt so restless all the time. I mean, I was depressed. I know that now. But at the time, I got it in my head that maybe I just needed a change of scenery. And Rachel is such a good person.” His voice pitched louder as he gesticulated emphatically. “She is so kind, and caring, and when I suggested moving out here to Elmdale to start over, she said yes.”

“Wait,” David squeaked, “you moved here with Rachel?” David was barely processing what Patrick was saying at this point. His world had tilted on its axis. Everything he thought he knew about Patrick was being rewritten in real time.

“Yeah.” He winced. “We bought the townhouse together back in February. And for a couple of months, things were good. New town, new job, new people...but every time we talked about wedding planning, those claustrophobic feelings started creeping in again.” He shook his head at the memory, face pinched. “I didn’t realize it at first, but Rachel kept asking me what was wrong, and I couldn’t tell her, because I just didn’t know.”

David knew that Patrick hadn’t been out for long, even to himself, but he hadn’t realized that the process had been so dramatic for him. To have gone through all of this, plus Josh, within the span of a year… Frankly, David was surprised Patrick wasn’t eating a whole lot more mall pretzels.

“So how did you figure it out?”

Patrick’s face relaxed. A playful glint shone in his eyes, and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Baseball.”

David rolled his eyes. “Mm, well, I can certainly appreciate the appeal of the tight costumes, even if running in a circle and getting covered in dirt is a pointless endeavor.” He paused at the memory that sprang to his mind, instinctively ready to shove it back down. But the air tonight felt charged with the weight of Patrick’s candidness. It was as if Patrick opening up a part of himself had allowed David to take a sledgehammer to another emotional wall, like maybe it was safe for David to share a small part of himself in order to make things okay for Patrick. So he did.

“Did I ever tell you that I played in one single Little League game as a kid?”

“What?! No!”

“Mhmm. I set the record for most times hit by a ball. They let me go home early.”

Patrick threw his head back in laughter, then: a real, belly laugh that filled the room and bounced off the walls and lit David up inside, sending waves of elation radiating from his chest to his fingers and toes. David wanted to capture the sound, to weave it into yarn and knit it into a blanket, and wrap it around himself on cold nights.

Patrick wiped away an errant tear as his laughter subsided. “Well. It wasn’t the tight pants. I mean, it wasn’t only the tight pants.” He half-winked. That stupid, adorable half-wink. “There’s this couple that plays on the Elmdale team together—Michael and Jack. I met them when the season started in May. And it’s not like I had never met gay people before, but this felt...different. When they would hold hands, or kiss, or anything, it felt like a punch in the gut. And I realized I _wanted_ that. Desperately. It’s a cliché, but I think it was just the first time I felt like I really saw myself.”

He smiled ruefully. “It took me a week after I admitted it to myself before I could tell Rachel and completely shatter her life.”

David grimaced in sympathy. “How did she take it?”

“Okay, all things considered. She didn’t yell at me, at least. She was just...really sad. Obviously. But I think we’ll be okay. We text sometimes. She even asked me the other day if I was seeing anyone.”

David’s stomach rolled, and he took a deep breath to steady himself before speaking. “Good question. You haven’t told me anything since we went skating. Did you end up meeting anyone yet?”

“Oh, no, uh, I deleted Tinder.”

“What? Why? Your profile was excellent.” David gestured airily in silent praise of his own handiwork.

“Yeah, I got some matches, but I just wasn’t feeling it. All the guys who messaged me just seemed...boring.” He shrugged. “I mean, not that I should really be one to judge,” he said, gesturing to his uniform of jeans, a woven belt, and a blue shirt. Although, David noted, he was wearing a fitted sweater in a gorgeous shade of royal blue rather than his usual button-up.

“Um, no, you are _not_ boring,” David interrupted. “I mean, your style choices might leave something to be desired. Don’t get me wrong, blue is a great color on you. It looks amazing with your hair and eyes. But seriously, have you tried a hunter green? Or maybe charcoal? Something. Anything.” He paused. “Not anything. Mustard yellow looks good on very few people, and your skin is so pale—”

“Okay, yes, I get it, thanks,” Patrick cut him off with a self-deprecating laugh. “I just meant that they didn’t have a lot to say. I want to be with someone who I can laugh with. Who I can go toe-to-toe with. I’m not interested in someone who would be content with a lifetime of polite conversation.” He looked at David seriously. “I want someone who knows who they are and doesn’t apologize for it.”

David swallowed around the lump in his throat. He was a hair’s breadth away from Patrick. _I could kiss him_ , he thought wildly. He could lean in and press his lips to Patrick's so gently, tangle his fingers in the short hairs at the nape of Patrick's neck, feel Patrick’s nose bumping against his cheek. He could deepen the kiss to taste the soft slide of Patrick’s tongue against his own, press Patrick into the couch and run his hands over his shoulders and chest and arms, let his fingers traverse the peaks and valleys of his defined muscles. He could kiss down Patrick’s neck and up under his jawline, feel his light stubble scratching deliciously against his lips, slot a thigh between Patrick’s—

No. He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t risk scaring off the best person in his life, maybe the best person he’d ever known, for a hookup that would inevitably end badly when Patrick found someone he actually wanted to be in a relationship with. So instead of reaching for Patrick, he reached for their wine glasses on the coffee table. He handed Patrick his glass and lifted his own in a toast. “Well, cheers to your future, and to finding the person you want. I know you will.”

Patrick didn’t move his glass, so David moved his own to clink against Patrick’s, and quickly swallowed a mouthful of wine. Patrick mirrored him a moment later.

David gave him as bright a smile as he could muster. “Let’s finish the movie.”

⛄️ ❄️ ⛄️

David blinked his eyes open to bright lights and a warm weight on his shoulder. The power had come back on, and with it, the lights. His laptop still sat open on the coffee table, screen now dark. David looked down to find the source of the warmth, and his eyes landed on a tangle of soft curls. Patrick’s eyelashes fluttered beatifically on his cheeks, and his breath ghosted across David’s bicep.

David closed his eyes and allowed himself for a moment to imagine that he had this. That _Patrick_ wanted this, wanted him, loved him. That he wasn’t too selfish, or too stubborn, or too damaged, or too much. That he got to be happy.

Then, he opened his eyes, took a shuddering breath, and gently shook Patrick's shoulder.

Patrick yawned and stretched as he came awake, quickly pulling away from David and apologizing when he realized he had fallen asleep on him. He was endearingly concerned that he might have drooled on David's sweater. He hadn’t, though. Luckily.

Patrick pulled out his phone to check the time. It was after two in the morning. Patrick had been hoping to get on the road at nine, by which point the plows would hopefully have come through, so they worked together to make quick work of cleaning up: putting mugs and wine glasses in the sink, blowing out candles, and turning off light switches. David walked Patrick to the door and waited while he put on his coat and boots.

Patrick stood from the entryway bench and placed a gentle hand on David’s arm. “Merry Christmas, David,” he murmured, his voice so delicate that David almost didn’t hear him.

“Merry Christmas, Patrick.”

Patrick squeezed his arm twice and headed out the door with a small wave. David closed it behind him, flicked off the outside lights, and headed upstairs to collapse into bed.

⛄️ ❄️ ⛄️

When David woke again, it was blissfully late in the morning. He luxuriated in his own personal Christmas celebration: he brought his cup of coffee into a bubble bath, did the extended version of his morning skincare routine, and dressed in his most comfortable Random Identities hoodie before heading out the door to spend the rest of the day with his family in Schitt’s Creek.

He stopped in the middle of the walkway before he made it to the car. Despite yesterday’s snowstorm, David hadn’t actually expected a new sign on the snowman, since Patrick had needed to get on the road early that morning.

But there it was. Patrick had taken his time, smoothing the fresh snow over the old snowman, replacing its stones and sticks and carrot nose, brushing the snow off of its plaid trapper hat and red scarf before redressing it.

David peered at the new words on the sign, squeezed into the small space and written much too diminutively to be seen from the road.

David didn’t know this one. He got into his car and he pulled the song up on Spotify, and Sarah McLachlan’s ethereal voice filled the air as he started to drive.

_If I could know within my heart  
_ _That you were lonely, too  
_ _I would be happy just to hold the hands I love  
_ _On this winter night with you_

_The fire is dying now, my lamp is growing dim  
_ _The shades of night are lifting  
_ _The morning light steals across my window pane  
_ _Where webs of snow are drifting_

_If I could only have you near  
_ _To breathe a sigh or two_  
 _I would be happy just to hold the hands I love  
_ _On this winter night with you_

The song was deeply, undeniably romantic. David’s mind shuffled through memories of last night: the way Patrick smiled at him across the dinner table, how his face glowed in the flickering candlelight as he opened up the most vulnerable places in his heart, how his eyes crinkled with joy as he threw his head back and laughed, how he had touched David’s arm so gently, like David was something precious. The images wove themselves into the lyrics of the song as he drove past glittering fields covered in pristine, newly-fallen snow, and they filled his heart with something that felt a lot like hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Song for a Winter's Night" was the first song I chose for this story, and is where the title comes from. The [original](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7F9R94DLniE) was written by Gordon Lightfoot, and Sarah McLachlan [covered](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G0vSA5_8J0M) it beautifully. I like to think that Patrick has the original in mind, while David leans towards Sarah’s version.  
> 


	7. Chapter 7

Patrick  
  
**Today** 1:42 PM  
**Patrick:** Leaving my folks’ now. I should be back to Elmdale by six.  
  
**Patrick:** We need to leave at 7:30?  
  
**David:** No, not until 8:00. No one ever actually shows up on time for a New Year’s Eve party.  
  
**Patrick:** I’m a very punctual person, David.  
  
**David:** Maybe you should start driving, then, instead of sitting in the driveway texting.  
  
**Patrick:** See you soon. x  
  


⛄️ ❄️ ⛄️

David flicked his eyes up and down in the mirror one last time, and gave himself a little eyebrow raise in satisfaction. The Dsquared2 sweater was one of his newer eBay acquisitions, and paired with his Rick Owens leather pants, his outfit was doing all kinds of good things for his body.

_Maybe Patrick would do all kinds of good things for your body._

Stop it.

Something had shifted between them on Christmas Eve. They had been texting more over the last week while Patrick was at his parents’, but he still didn't know what Patrick wanted, and the devil on his shoulder (which sounded suspiciously like Stevie) was not being helpful.

So maybe Patrick liked him, too. Maybe. But what difference did it make, really? Even if something happened between them, it was doomed from the start, just like every other relationship he’d ever had. Resurrecting his friendship with Stevie after their fling had been an anomaly, the one miraculous exception to his otherwise cursed dating history. He couldn’t count on a second divine intervention to save him from yet another bad decision.

Friends. Just friends. He could do that. He buttoned up his peacoat and wrapped his scarf high around his neck, and walked next door to pick up Patrick.

All of the air rushed out of David’s lungs when Patrick opened the door. He was wearing a tailored black button up that hugged his shoulders perfectly, and slim charcoal trousers that clung deliciously to his thighs. He had styled his curls with a little pomade to make them soft and defined, and his cheeks glowed from a fresh shave. He was _gorgeous._

“You...you got a new shirt. And new pants,” David stuttered. His tongue suddenly felt too big for his mouth.

“I did. Someone may have suggested that I try another color. Thoughts?” He held his hands out to his sides.

“Good. They’re good. Um. You look very nice.” What was his face doing? How did muscles work again?

Patrick bit down on a smile. “I’m glad you approve.”

David nodded, and willed himself to regain some grip on reality. “We should probably get going.” He jerked his thumb at his car.

“Yup, let me just grab my coat.”

While Patrick went back in for a moment, David gazed up at the clear sky and counted the stars, sparkling like glitter strewn across the black field. The late December air was heavy and cold, and the promise of a snowstorm whispered around him.

“It was nice of Twyla to invite me,” Patrick said, locking his front door behind him and buttoning up his long wool coat. Navy blue, David noted. “Who else is going to be there?”

“Stevie will be there, but Alexis and her boyfriend are going to a party at one of his friends’ houses. I’m not really sure who else Twyla invited. She’s never done a New Year’s Eve party before. She does usually have a murder mystery party in the spring, but I’m hoping this will be less of a disaster than that was this year.” They opened the car doors and slipped into their seats.

“Why? What happened?”

“Um, my mom was supposed to be the murderer? And then my mom didn’t show. So there just...wasn’t a murderer. On the plus side, the cupcakes were excellent.”

⛄️ ❄️ ⛄️

The cafe looked surprisingly not-terrible. Twyla had decorated it in mostly black and silver, with white candles on the tables, pom-pom garlands on the walls, and nary a balloon or plastic fringe door curtain to be seen. Soft jazz filtered through the speakers, and groups of people were mingling and drinking champagne. Well, zhampagne, anyway, if the raisins Twyla always added to “release the bubbles'' were any indication. But still. It was...nice, actually.

Patrick's hand slid surreptitiously across David's lower back as Patrick slipped into the cafe behind him. The touch was there and gone so quickly that David couldn't have been sure he hadn't imagined it, if not for the spark that was still tickling up and down his spine.

Twyla appeared in front of them out of nowhere, grinning widely. “Hi, David! So glad you could make it!” She turned her attention to David’s right. “You must be Patrick! It’s so nice to finally meet you! I’ve heard so much about you from David and Stevie.”

Patrick raised his eyebrows at David. “Have you?” Twyla nodded. “Well, it’s great to finally meet you, too, Twyla. Thanks so much for inviting me.”

“My pleasure! I’m going to keep making the rounds. Make yourselves at home!” She made her way to a group of people seated in one of the booths, practically skipping with exuberance.

Patrick turned to David, eyes wide with glee. “So she’s heard a lot about me, huh?”

"Should we get something to drink?" David inched toward the bar set up near the cafe counter, pointedly ignoring Patrick’s question.

“Sure,” Patrick laughed. They helped themselves to wine and settled into a spot against the back wall, David making sure to keep at least a middle school dance level of distance between them at all times. _Friends_ , he reminded himself.

He kept himself distracted by people watching, and he noticed Stevie walking towards them from across the room. She was wearing a tight black dress under her leather jacket, the one she always wore when they used to go out hoping to find some randoms.

"Oh, hello." David shimmied his shoulders suggestively. "Are we looking to find someone to ring in the new year with?"

Stevie’s face reddened. "Uh, not exactly…" But before she could explain, Twyla floated up beside her, wrapping an arm around Stevie's waist and reaching up to kiss her on the cheek. Stevie closed her eyes and leaned into the touch like a cat stretching to find the sun.

Um.

"Um," David said, "so this is new."

"Yes...it would appear that it is." Stevie's jaw was set in defiance, but her eyes darted between Twyla, Patrick, and David, betraying her nerves.

David recovered quickly and gave her a soft smile. "Okay."

Stevie's face instantly relaxed. She didn't smile back, exactly, but she looked...content.

Patrick, of course, because he was a perfect human being, read the room immediately. "David, Stevie, do you want anything else to drink? Twyla and I can go get the next round."

David smiled at him gratefully. "I'll have a cabernet, please. Stevie? Chardonnay for you?" He raised an eyebrow derisively.

"Mm, I've been enjoying it immensely lately, so yes, absolutely a chardonnay." She widened her eyes in challenge.

"Um, sure!" Twyla said, sweetly oblivious to the subtext.

"Back in a few." Patrick squeezed David's shoulder and he and Twyla headed off towards the bar.

David turned back to Stevie, eyes wide with mirth. "Tell me _everything._ Well, not everything. Actually, maybe almost everything? I'm _very_ curious about—"

"Okay, thanks for that," Stevie cut him off. Rude. "It kind of just happened. But also, um, it's been a long time coming, I think."

"I'll bet,” he smirked, voice low.

"Oh my god." She shook her head into her hands. " _Anyway_ , we’ve known each other forever. I was here one night a couple weeks ago, and it started snowing, so I just kind of...stayed. We talked until really late, and then she just leaned in and...and kissed me.” Her lips quirked up in a smile and she looked away, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “And it was really nice.”

David had only rarely seen Stevie like this. She seemed genuinely happy, so much so that she either couldn’t or didn’t care to hide behind her usual mask of indifference. “I guess I’m just surprised. Last you told me, you only, you know, drank red wine.”

“I...did,” Stevie said slowly, “but in retrospect, I think I’ve always been a little interested in white wine? At least theoretically.”

“So is this just a casual thing, or…?”

“I, uh, I really like her. It’s new, but...no. Not just casual. Not like Jake.” She and David grimaced in unison. “Okay, that’s enough. I’ve met my emotional quota for the month.” She waved her hands as if they were smudge sticks, cleansing the sincerity from the air. “Are we done here?”

“Mm, I suppose.” He pushed a smile into his cheek. Maybe one more moment of sincerity. “I’m happy for you.”

Stevie’s eyes sparkled. “Thank you.”

The music suddenly changed to something more uptempo, and a moment later, Patrick and Twyla were back. Twyla sashayed over to Stevie, handing her a drink and pecking her on the lips, and dragged her off to dance. David watched them for a minute as they spun around the makeshift dance floor, Twyla laughing brightly and Stevie gazing at her with a look of fondness that he didn’t think he’d ever seen in her eyes before.

“Do you want to go dance?”

David turned toward the sound of Patrick’s voice. He had his hands jammed deep in his pockets and an adorably hopeful look on his face.

David swallowed hard. “Sure.”

They set their drinks aside and joined the girls. David was able to hold it together for the next hour or so (even with the way Patrick’s ass looked in those trousers, oh my _god_ ) as they all danced, ate, drank, and laughed. It was nice. It was good. He was having fun.

But then Ella Fitzgerald's sultry voice came over the speakers, and Patrick was holding out his hand and smiling softly, and David was stepping into the circle of his arms. They were pressed chest to chest, heart to heart, swaying as the hum of the muted horns and the shape of Ella's words nudged them on.

 _Oh, maybe I'm crazy to suppose  
_ _That I'd ever be the one that you chose  
_ _Out of the thousand invitations you receive_

_Oh, but in case I stand one little chance_  
_Here comes the jackpot question in advance  
What are you doing New Year's, New Year's Eve?_

He felt warm and safe, but also like he was standing on the precipice of something new and life-changing. His heart was full; his heart was bursting; his heart suddenly felt like it was going to crush him. He couldn't breathe. It was too much.

He pulled away from Patrick, mumbling apologies, and rushed out into the cold.

He stood outside the cafe, staring at the empty storefront of the old general store. What was he _doing_? He was living his life toeing a line that he shouldn’t be anywhere near, yet that he was desperate to leap over. What was he supposed to do to get past this? Fire Patrick from the store? Sell his townhouse? Go back to Schitt’s Creek and live in the motel and sit on his twin bed with the terrible mattress, languishing from boredom and loneliness? Or, he could kiss Patrick, date Patrick, fuck Patrick, _love_ Patrick, and delay those things for a few months, and then have to do them all, anyway, after they broke up.

David crossed his arms tightly over his chest. Fuck, it was cold. He couldn’t have grabbed his jacket before making his dramatic exit?

He felt a light tap on his shoulder, and he whipped around to see Stevie, holding his coat in her outstretched hand. He accepted it gratefully and shoved his hands in his pockets, blinking away tears.

“Lovely night for a walk,” Stevie intoned. “I always prefer to get my exercise in when it’s -5 degrees. Good call on that one.”

David looked at her miserably. "Excuse me, I am _suffering_."

“Okay, look. I’m going to allow myself to go into overtime on sincerity this one time, but please don’t expect it again in the future. In fact, you can consider this conversation to be an advance withdrawal from next month’s allowance.” She took a deep breath, her exhale hanging in the air like a cloud. “We’ve been through some shit. We’ve been chewed up, and spit out, and told again and again that long-term isn’t for us. But Twyla--” she looked up at the sky, where clouds were starting to cover the stars “--Twyla is different. It feels different. It feels like the start of something real.” She looked at David. “And I think Patrick feels that way for you, too. I think it feels real. And I think that’s why you’re scared.” She stuck out her pointer finger and poked him in the bicep. “Am I close?”

David pulled his lower lip between his teeth and nodded. She was right. It felt too real. It was exhilarating. It was _terrifying_.

"What if everything falls apart? I can't start over _again_ , Stevie."

"I mean, it might. Who knows? But also, it might not. And for the record, I like this for you. I like this for both of you."

"Me too," David whispered. He felt a weight slip off his shoulders at the admission. Maybe sometimes things do work out. Or, at least, maybe Patrick was worth the risk.

“So what are you going to do about it?”

David glanced back through the cafe windows, searching briefly to see if he could find Patrick. “I’m not sure yet. But something, I think.”

She nodded, satisfied. “Good.”

They headed back into the blessed warmth of the cafe, and David was immediately looking for wide eyes and a head full of auburn curls. He found them sitting in a booth near the back, their owner absentmindedly picking at the Formica tabletop.

“Hey.”

Patrick jumped at the sound of David's voice and slid quickly out of the booth. “Hi. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m sorry I left like that. I just needed a minute.”

“It’s fine. I’m glad you’re all right.” Patrick's face was full of concern, eyebrows knitted together, mouth downturned. David hated it.

“I know it’s only like 10:30, but um, would you mind if we headed back? I just think I’m not up for staying.”

“Of course. Do you want me to drive?”

“No, I’m good. Thank you, though.” He gave Patrick what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

They said goodbye to Stevie and Twyla, and headed back to David’s car.

⛄️ ❄️ ⛄️

“So do you have any New Year’s resolutions?” Patrick asked. They were about fifteen minutes outside of Schitt’s Creek, and the drive had been mostly quiet so far, except for Mariah Carey playing faintly in the background and the intermittent swish of the windshield wipers as they cleared away the softly falling snow.

David considered the question. “Well, normally, I would say something effervescent and meaningless, like 'find myself' or 'see the world'. But um, this year, I think I'm just going to try to let myself be happy." He glanced quickly at Patrick before looking back at the road. "What about you?"

"Hm. I was going to say something stupid like 'be able to bench press two hundred pounds,' or whatever."

"Definitely not stupid," David muttered. His face felt hot all of a sudden.

Patrick chuckled. "But I like yours. 'Let myself be happy.' I think I need more of that, after everything that happened this year."

David nodded. "Well, it's not midnight, and we don't have any champagne, because that would be wildly inappropriate in a car, but, um..." He held out his hand to Patrick. It was an invitation, an offering, a leap of faith. A moment later, he felt warm, calloused fingers slip into his own. He gave them a squeeze. "To New Year's resolutions."

"To New Year's resolutions." Patrick squeezed back gently.

David lingered in Patrick's touch for as long as he could, but after a minute or two he had to pull his hand back to the wheel to keep the car steady on the slick roads.

They drove on in comfortable silence, and a few minutes later, when David glanced over at Patrick, he was leaning against the passenger-side window, eyes closed, lips parted slightly, breathing rhythmically. In David's old life, someone falling asleep with him _twice_ would have been an insult. But here, with Patrick, he felt only a rush of fondness.

He pulled into his parking spot and reached over to gently shake Patrick’s shoulder and rouse him from sleep. Patrick blinked his eyes open and smiled softly at David before his mouth was overtaken with a massive yawn.

“Sorry about that,” he said, rolling his neck to ease out the tension from his awkward sleeping position. “It was a long drive today, and I always get tired after. I guess it’s good we left early.”

“Well, I was deeply offended, though Mariah is excellent company. You’ll just have to make it up to me.”

“I’ll be sure to do that.” He half-winked, which turned into another wide yawn.

David laughed. “Okay, let’s get you inside.”

Patrick stumbled out of the car, the weight of his fatigue making it seem as if he had had much more to drink than two and a half glasses of wine. David wrapped an arm around his waist to hold him up, and when Patrick leaned heavily into his side, David’s stomach filled with a swarm of butterflies, fluttering up into his chest and his cheeks. They tripped up the snowy walkway, and Patrick fumbled with his keys trying to open the lock. David finally took them gently from his fingers and slid the key in smoothly, pushing the door open. Patrick turned to face him, and took a step forward. David’s heart pounded in his chest. Was he…? Was this…? But then he felt snug arms around his middle, and a weight on his shoulder, and warm breath on his neck.

Oh. A hug.

David wrapped his arms around Patrick and squeezed tight, breathing in the scent of his shampoo and the warmth of his touch. David tentatively rubbed his hands across Patrick's shoulder blades, the wool rough and warm against his palms, and Patrick's fingers pressed lightly into his ribs in response as his nose burrowed ever closer into David's neck. The snow fell lightly around them, peppering their shoulders and backs with tiny specks of white crystal, and David wanted to live forever in this moment, in this feeling, in Patrick's arms.

Too soon, David felt a light brush of lips on the sensitive skin below his ear, and then Patrick was pulling away and stepping back to yawn again, this time complete with a full arm stretch.

David rolled his eyes affectionately. “All right. I think that’s my cue.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat and nodded at Patrick. “Goodnight.”

Patrick ducked his head and looked up at David through his lashes. “Goodnight, David.”

David turned away from him and unlocked his own front door, and decided to head straight to bed. Midnight was overrated, anyway.

⛄️ ❄️ ⛄️

David woke to the new year with a smile on his face. He snuggled back into the covers, reliving the hug last night and the feeling of Patrick pressed tightly up against him. He was going to do this. He was going to push through his anxieties and his past, and try to let himself be happy.

He hopped out of bed and started down the stairs. He didn’t need to rush things. They were on the same page now, he thought. Maybe he could ask Patrick on a date this weekend. Go out to dinner, hold hands across the table, kiss goodnight.

On the way to the kitchen, he glanced out the front window and stopped dead in his tracks.

The old snowman on the lawn had a partner. Patrick had moved the stone eyes and carrot noses so that both snowmen were facing David and Patrick’s adjoined houses, and instead of the usual trapper hat, each was wearing a wool toque—one black, one navy blue. David squinted to read the sign that was now visible from his front window.

David knew this song. Patrick _knew_ he knew this song. David had discussed it in detail one day at work when he was educating Patrick on the travesty and injustice of Mariah having won _zero_ Grammys for _Daydream_.

Maybe he didn’t need to wait for this weekend. Maybe he could do this right now.

Before he could second-guess himself, David ran upstairs to throw on some clothes, brush his teeth, and run his fingers through his hair to reshape it into some semblance of a style. (He was in a hurry, but he wasn’t an animal.) He quickly tugged on his boots and rushed out of his townhouse into the chilly late-morning air, straight to Patrick’s front door. He raised a fist and pounded until the door swung open and Patrick’s confused face appeared from behind it.

“David, what—”

“Patrick, why did you choose this song?” He gestured at the snowmen.

Patrick opened his mouth as if he was going to speak, then shut it quickly and looked down at his shoes. “I don’t know, I just thought, melting...snow...” he mumbled.

David kept pushing. “Okay, fine. Then why did you make another snowman? Why the blue and black?” Patrick scuffed his toe against the entryway carpet. David took a step forward and spoke softly, now. “Why Mariah Carey, Patrick?”

Patrick’s head snapped up then, his eyes blazing with heat and promise, his gaze boring straight into David’s heart, into his soul.

“David. After everything...do you really not know?”

David’s lips were on Patrick’s almost before he realized he was moving forward, hauling Patrick in with one hand curled around his head and the other arm wrapped around the small of his back. Patrick tensed momentarily and let out a small whimper before melting into the kiss and reaching for David’s hips, grabbing firmly and pulling him in closer. The short hairs at the nape of Patrick’s neck gently tickled David’s fingers, and the yarn of his sweater was soft under David’s palm. Patrick’s lips moved softly against David’s, exploring, as his tongue teased gently at David’s lower lip, and the world narrowed only to where their chests and thighs and lips were pressed together.

David’s heart was on fire. His body was electric. His feet were going to float off the ground. This kiss felt like the sound of a silky tenor voice resonating through a crowded room, like spinning on skates in a snowy wonderland, like sipping from mugs of marshmallow-laden hot chocolate in front of a cozy fire, like quiet car rides and gentle touches of shoulders, of backs, of arms, of hands. Kissing Patrick felt like coming home.

And Patrick kept kissing him, and kissing him, and kissing him. And maybe it felt like coming home for him, too.


	8. Two Years Later

David blinked his eyes awake. The bedroom was flooded with bright sunshine, despite the supposed blackout curtains, which could only mean one of two things: either it was already noon, or there had been another snowstorm. David reached out for his phone on the nightstand and squinted at the numbers. 8:49 a.m. David groaned and rolled over, blindly searching for Patrick so that he could snuggle into his neck and go back to sleep for ten more minutes, but all he found was an empty bed and cold sheets.

He listened into the quiet surrounding him, and he heard the faint sounds of metal scraping against brick, which meant that Patrick was already up and shoveling. Definitely a snowstorm, then.

David stretched his arms and tentatively eased a leg out from under the covers, before deciding to rip off the Band-Aid and throw all of the blankets off at once. He hopped from foot to foot, not wanting to give the cold of the floor a chance to reach through his socks, and made his way to the cedar chest at the foot of their bed.

He wondered if he would ever get tired of this bed, this room, this home being theirs. It had been eight months since Patrick sold his townhouse and moved into David’s, and he still felt a thrill from seeing two bath towels hanging in the bathroom, a hodgepodge of tea boxes and tins in the kitchen cabinet, and an acoustic guitar on a stand in the living room.

David reached to open the cedar chest, but he stopped when he saw a yellow sticky note sitting on top.

David frowned. Patrick sometimes left him little notes, but they always had an actual message, like “Good morning” or “Don’t forget about the pickup at Heather’s farm today.” This one was strange. David set the small paper on the bed and retrieved a sweater to block the morning chill, and then picked up the note again and headed downstairs.

David could smell the coffee already brewing, because Patrick was wonderful and thoughtful, and also had absolutely no confidence that David could get out of the house on time if he had to get out of bed _and_ wait for coffee to brew. David had pointed out multiple times early on that he had managed to get to the store on time (okay, mostly on time) without Patrick’s help for almost two years, but once they had started driving together every morning, David found himself at the mercy of Patrick’s obstinate adherence to a morning schedule.

David opened the cabinet to grab a coffee mug, and found a second note stuck to his favorite, the one that held at least three cups’ worth of caffeinated bliss.

David rolled his eyes. Okay. Patrick was trolling him again. He peeled the note off of the mug and stuck it to the partridge one he had brought downstairs, poured himself a cup of coffee, and went in search of the rest of the clues in this ridiculous scavenger hunt.

In the living room, the Christmas tree glowed like a rainbow monstrosity. They had a real tree, obviously, but in the interest of _compromise,_ they had spent a little extra money on LED lights with multiple settings so that the lights could be correctly set to warm white most of the time, but occasionally switched to the multi-colored function that Patrick loved so much. David reached for the remote to fix them, and found the third note stuck to it. Of course.

He hoped Patrick wasn’t planning on him finding the entire twelve days before they had to leave for the store, because then they absolutely would be late, and Patrick would only have himself to blame. They were in the midst of their Boxing Day sale, which was actually more of a Boxing Week sale, and the weekend after Christmas was always one of their most profitable of the year. People came in for bargains on holiday items, but inevitably wound up picking up some full-price skincare or scarves, too. It was their first holiday season since Patrick had used the money from the sale of his townhouse to buy out Wendy; their first holiday season where the success—or failure—of the store fell completely on their shoulders. Patrick’s spreadsheets told them that the margins had been good so far, but opening an hour late on December 29th because of a knock-off escape room challenge was not the way David wanted to close out the year.

He set his mug down on the coffee table and affixed the third note to the others. He walked toward the entryway to go outside and retrieve his boyfriend, and found the fourth note stuck to the inside of the front door at David’s eye level.

David smiled to himself thinking about Patrick having to reach up just a little higher to make sure David would see the note right away. He pulled his coat out of the closet and slipped it on, before peeling the note off the door, tucking all four papers into his pocket, buttoning his coat tightly, and sitting down on the bench to put on his boots. He debated whether or not he should put on a toque for such a short trip outside, but the coffee hadn’t quite warmed the morning chill out of his bones, and he still had to do his hair, anyway, so he tugged the black knit cap down to his ears and stepped out into the cold.

Patrick was at the end of the now-shoveled walkway, lifting away the last of the snow, wearing his ugly parka and old, navy blue toque, looking totally unstylish and absolutely gorgeous.

“Patrick!” David called out to him, as he squeezed his shoulders up to his ears to block the cold air from breaching the collar of his coat.

Patrick turned at the sound of his name, smiling his brilliant smile, and David’s heart thumped in his chest. Almost two years together, and he was still so smitten with this ridiculous man. Patrick speared the shovel into the deep snow so that it stayed upright, and jogged up the walkway as best he could in his heavy boots to pull David into a sweet kiss. Patrick’s lips and nose were cold, and David’s arms wrapped around Patrick’s shoulders to keep him close and warm his chilled skin.

“Good morning,” Patrick murmured against David’s lips. “Did you like your notes?”

David scowled. He’d almost forgotten. He took a step back from Patrick to reach into his pocket and wave the tiny stack of yellow papers at him. “This is arguably one of the worst Christmas songs. It's right up there with ‘Baby, It’s Cold Outside’ and Alvin and the Chipmunks. And what made you think that one of our busiest days of the year was a good time for this little game before work? I only found four, by the way.”

Patrick smiled. “I don’t know, David, I think this song has its merits. There were only four notes to find. And today was a good time because it’s the fifth day of Christmas.” He nodded over towards the lawn, where a snowman stood.

David had barely acknowledged it earlier, assuming the (blessedly quiet and well-behaved) child of the family who now lived in Patrick’s old townhouse had made it. But now that he looked more carefully, it seemed a little too tall and a little too neat for an eight-year-old to have built. It was also wearing a red scarf and a familiar-looking trapper hat, and was holding a chalkboard sign.

He turned back to Patrick. “I still don’t—” But the words froze on his tongue.

Patrick was down on one knee, holding a long velvet box in his hands.

David choked out a nervous laugh. “What’s going on?”

Patrick’s eyes crinkled at the corners with a small smile. “So, a little over two years ago, this guy moved in next door to me. And he was funny, and smart, and incredible, and all I wanted to do was be near him all the time. But I didn’t know how to get him to see me that way, or how to show him how much I wanted to be with him. So I, uh, started building these silly snowmen...and I guess they must have worked, because...here he is, the love of my life, standing in front of me. And this just seemed like the perfect way to ask you to marry me.”

Patrick opened the box and turned it to face David. Inside, four gold bands shined in the morning sunshine, as bright as Patrick's smile, as sparkling as the joy in David's heart.

"Are- are you sure?" David asked, helplessly, desperately. 

"Easiest decision of my life." Patrick's voice wavered with emotion, but his eyes stayed trained steadily on David's. "So is that a yes?"

David smiled playfully, fighting the tears that were threatening to fall. "I don't think you actually asked me anything."

Patrick laughed and reached for David's hand. "David Rose, will you marry me?"

There was no holding back the tears now, and he nodded wildly as they overflowed. "YES. Yes, yes, yes." 

Patrick stood and wrapped his arms around David, kissing him deeply, and David sank into the warmth and love that Patrick was pouring out to him.

Patrick pulled back slightly and rested his forehead against David's. "I love you so much, David. I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you."

David sniffed wetly as a fresh batch of tears sprang to his eyes. "Oh god, I'm disgusting. You're going to change your mind, now."

Patrick leaned in to kiss him again. "Never."

They stood holding each other in the crisp morning air, until David remembered something. "Um, can I see those rings, maybe?"

Patrick laughed into David's shoulder before stepping back. He took David's left hand in his and placed the ring box into David's right. Patrick took out the rings one by one and then slid them reverently onto David's fingers—one on his pointer, one on his middle finger, and two on his ring finger—each one a love letter, a serenade, a promise.

David's heart was so full he couldn't stand it, and he had to cut through the feeling with a tease. "I can't help but notice there are only four rings, here."

Patrick smirked at him and leaned up to press a soft kiss to David's lips. "I figured we'd add the fifth one at the wedding," he murmured into the small space between them.

_The wedding._ They were getting _married._ Patrick was going to be David's _husband._ David shimmied with glee, unable to contain the emotions coursing through him, and pulled Patrick into another kiss.

Two years ago, David had taken a leap, had pushed himself to let go of his fears and try to let himself be happy. At the time, it had felt like he was cracking himself in two, to open himself up to being hurt like that. But every day since then, Patrick had made it his mission to show David that he could trust him, and that Patrick thought David was good, and kind, and worth it, worth everything. And in turn, David had set out to show Patrick that he wasn't broken, and that the mistakes of Patrick's past didn't define who he was now or what he deserved. They tried to show each other that, in fact. Over time, they had built each other back up, and built something beautiful together. The David of two years ago had absolutely no idea what pure happiness could really be, how much joy it was possible to hold in his heart, how full his life would be with Patrick by his side. 

David held Patrick close until they were both starting to shiver from the cold, and then they turned to go back into the house, hand in hand, ready to start the first day of the rest of their lives.

⛄❤️⛄

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on [tumblr](https://designatedgrape.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Songs mentioned, and my personal favorite versions of them:
> 
> "Let It Snow"—Diana Krall  
> "River"—Joni Mitchell  
> "Snowfall"--Ingrid Michaelson  
> "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas"—Judy Garland  
> "A Winter's Tale"—Queen  
> ("Never Gonna Give You Up"—Rick Astley, if you really want to do that to yourself)  
> "Song for a Winter's Night"—Gordon Lightfoot/Sarah McLachlan  
> "What are You Doing New Year's Eve"—Ella Fitzgerald  
> "Melt Away"—Mariah Carey  
> "The Twelve Days of Christmas"—Bela Fleck and the Flecktones (a genuinely good version of this song)


End file.
